


A Meeting of Two Fates

by WeLoveSherlolly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeLoveSherlolly/pseuds/WeLoveSherlolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is married to Irene, but he doesn't love her, he meets Molly a nurse studying to become a pathologist, after getting shot while on a case, they fall in love, but he's still married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It wasn't the first time they met.

**Author's Note:**

> This is written loosely based on Parade's End, I haven't actually seen it yet, so it's just a few of the things I know about it from Tumblr.
> 
> A huge thank you goes to - Sherlockadoresmolly, who's helping me write this, and for going through ideas with me :D
> 
> I do not own these characters, or the universe they live in.
> 
> There is a very small mention of drug use, and loss of a child. Explicit for later chapters.

Sherlock cringed as he woke up, feeling the cold touch of his wife’s fingers running over his cheek, ‘you’re awake darling,’ she drawled, prolonging her enunciation of the pet name she’d chosen for him. He hated it, hated everything about their marriage, it was a game to Irene, he was sure she loved him in some way, but not true love, she loved the idea of being in love, and she loved the game she was playing with him.

They’d met over three years ago; he’d been under the influence of cocaine, drinking a glass of scotch in some dingy club. She’d begun to chatting him up, and in a rush of passion they’d ended up shagging against the wall in the alley behind the club.

He’d been acting out for a few years, and later that night, because of the mix of the drugs and the drinking, he’d ended up in the hospital with an overdose.  
He didn’t even remember being brought to the hospital, when he woke up he was trapped in a room, his brother on the other side of the door, informing him that he was expected to get clean.

Sherlock had screamed himself hoarse, cried out every curse he could think of, he’d fallen to the floor, banging his hands until they were bloody, and he’d cried a flood of ugly unrestrained tears.

Three months later he was out, working his first case with George Lestrade, a newly appointed DI, and someone Sherlock had met on many different occasion during his drug use, most had ended up with Sherlock spending the night in a jail cell.

Eight months after their first meeting, he saw her again, he kept his face clear, but he knew she noticed the small flash of shock in his expression.

She was pregnant, and she gave him no choice but to marry her, she’d lost the baby, and even though he shared no feelings for her, he’d stayed in the marriage; he did feel some sort of obligation. In the end, it had all turned into a game for her; maybe it was all caused by the fact that he had informed her that there would be no sex, that he wasn’t interested in sex in anyway, and that it wasn’t just with, her but with anyone.

He didn’t know for sure of course, but ever since, she’d done everything in her power to try and get him back into her bed, so he’d buried himself in cases from Lestrade, or from his blog. He’d met John on one of his adventures, and they had formed a friendship, John knew danger from Afghanistan, so he was a suited partner for the cases.

Sherlock had even gone as far as getting his own flat, and he stayed there most of the time, doing experiments, and driving his landlady crazy.

But still, he felt obligated, so he returned to the house he and Irene had gotten together soon after they were married, every weekend, although he didn’t stay for long, always managing to find something to do. That didn’t mean Irene didn’t try, she even showed up at Baker Street occasionally, once she’d stopped by while he’d been out, and she’d tried to drug him.

She’d underestimated him though; been unable to fool him, he’d seen the evidence of someone having entered his place, as soon as he’d stepped through the door.

He’d been on a case for the last two weeks, following the clues of a serial killer through most of London, he’d finally found her, but just before the police had arrived she’d released a bullet from her gun, it had hit the consulting detective in his abdomen, thankfully missing any important organs, but still leaving him in his current situation.

He opened his eyes to glare up at her, giving her the coldest stare he could muster.

‘You’re at St. Barts, it’s a most professional hospital, and i’m certain you’ll like it here,’ she said, knowing very well he’d hate it.

He watched her leave, only taking a breath when he couldn’t hear her heels clicking on the linoleum floor.

The door opened again, informing him of the presence of someone other than Irene, a nurse he concluded, most likely here to check up on the wound to his stomach, and to try, and fail, to make him eat something.

‘Are you alright Mr. Holmes,’ he’d closed his eyes again grumbling at the fact that he wouldn’t be able to escape Irene for at least the week it would take him to persuade his brother to make the papers that would get him out of here, and back to Baker Street.

He looked to the nurse, and saw her brown chocolate eyes widen, it seemed like she knew him, and he had a sense of déjà vu as well, he remembered her scent, vanilla and strawberry. He deduced her, her hair was chestnut, wrapped up in a messy bun, a few strands hanging down her slender neck. Her body was small, but strong, there were a few scars on her hands, so he could tell she’d worked with scalpels, but her demeanour told him that she wasn’t studying to become a doctor.

As of right now, he couldn’t tell what she was working toward, and he simply settled on watching her walk to the other side of the room, pulling the curtains aside, and letting in the sun.


	2. A Book on Serial Killers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again written in collaberation with the wonderful - Sherlockadoresmolly
> 
> And I do not own the characters

The next time Sherlock saw the petite nurse, he was in a deep discussion with John.

‘I need to get out of here! Irene’s here every day and she knows I can’t exactly move much due to the pain. What if she tries to drug me again?' He hissed at his best friend. 'I’m bored to tears as well. I’ve already deduced everyone here.’ 

Sherlock took a quick glance at the nurse and realised, perhaps, he hadn’t been completely honest with John. Nurse Hooper was still a bit of a mystery to him. She seemed to be unfazed by his various atrocious moods and his temper.

Not once had she flinched when he broke out in an outburst of swear words and curses which were often even directed at her.

He couldn’t seem to figure out why though. Everyone (well, everyone he’d met) cringed when he was in one of his moods. He’d even seen his otherwise composed _wife_ react to his moods albeit in a controlled, mild way. 

There was also the mystery of the nurse's future occupation as it was becoming evident that she was not planning to remain a nurse forever. He’d heard her discussing the death of one of the patients with a doctor and he was intrigued by her perceptible knowledge of causes of death. She had a keen eye as far as his curious ears could tell and she'd been right about the cause of death. Her deductions ultimately freeing a man from going to prison for murder.

Sherlock had to admit that a very small part of him wished to stay in his hospital bed; if only to follow the mystery that seemed to radiate from his nurse.

‘I’ve brought you a book. Maybe if you read it, you’ll stop being such an arse,’ said John, unable to hide the obvious glee in his tone.

‘Anger Management for Dummies.' Sherlock turned up his nose and tossed the book back into John's hands. 'Really, John. Your sense of humour is appalling. Maybe you should get one of these for yourself? Perhaps, something along the lines of How to Not Bore the Shit Out of One's Friends.’

There was a giggle, followed quickly by a gasp from the door as Molly walked through it.

‘I’m so sorry, sir. Uhm... Mr. Holmes.’ There was a slight hint of red spreading over her cheeks, and by the sight of her hands nervously running the hem of her coat through her finger, he could see she was embarrassed.

‘Oh god. Do refrain from calling me anything even resembling Mr. Holmes. I should hate to be in too close a relation with my brother.’

‘Sherlock, you have the same freaking parents. You couldn’t be in any closer relations with him if you tried,’ answered John exasperatedly, running his hand through his hair.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes, placed his hands under his chin, and went into his mind palace; John could take care of himself.

When Sherlock finally decided to leave his mind palace, he'd found that John had left, and there was a book positioned on his bedside table. It was about theories on several well-known serial killers.

**Maybe this will make for a more interesting read -M**

Sherlock genuinely smiled at the gesture. His nurse was apparently even more observant than he thought and the book was, indeed, an interesting read. When Sherlock had finished, the sky outside had darkened into night. 

Sherlock spend a good while into the night thinking about Molly Hooper. He’d been unsuccessful in getting his hands on a laptop and his brother had insisted on keeping his cell as well. He claimed it would be easier for Sherlock to heal if he had nothing to pique his interest.

Sherlock had been furious, demanding for his brother to return his phone. But as always, Mycroft was insistent, and after all, one did not argue with the British Government.

Sherlock distinctly remembered that day as being the first time Molly had seen him upset. He also seemed to remember a slight smile, and reminded himself to ask her why she’d been smiling at his misery.

He noticed the drapes had been shut when he came out of his thoughts, which was proof that Molly or some other nurse had been there. There was a faint smell of the familiar vanilla and strawberry still hanging in the air. So, Molly. Definitely, Molly.

Another welcomed aroma, that of freshly brewed coffee, danced around him. The still steaming cup was perched on the nightstand where the book had been placed for him earlier.

**I told you you’d enjoy the book- M**

Sherlock had known from the minute he saw Molly that she was attracted to him. But to be fairly honest, most women were. He’d just never been interested in the past. And unfortunately, there wasn’t a single day in his life where he didn’t regret sleeping with Irene.

He knew Molly was different. She seemed to have a way of understanding him, without even knowing him properly. It was a rare trait, one he only experienced from John and Lestrade.

Sherlock was, to say the least, curious and he realised he’d made his choice of staying even before talking to John. He needed to figure out the mystery he'd been inadvertently been given. After all, he was a solver of mysteries. Was he not?

Yes, he would stay. He would learn all there was to learn about her and maybe, he’d even tell her of his adventures. He already knew she was somewhat clever, but he wanted to know just how clever she was.

Sherlock drank the coffee; downing it all in three mouthfuls.

Once again, he was drawn to the familiar scent of the nurse. He drew up the image of the first time he saw her, in his mind. Her chocolate brown eyes widened in recognition but from where?

With that in mind, Sherlock positioned his head on the soft pillow, closed his eyes, and dreamt a very vivid dream of Molly Hooper - the mystery he had yet to solve.


End file.
